


Order from Chaos

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hidden feelings and a Birthday mishap. c.1972</p>
            </blockquote>





	Order from Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this many years ago on Livejournal under a pseudonym, just in case anyone recognises it.

Brian didn’t know why he was so nervous! It was only a birthday present he was going to give Roger – and a cheap one at that. Really, the record had only been a few quid, and he hadn’t even bothered to wrap the darned thing. Still, the Hendrix bootleg he had managed to get his hands on through one of his University colleagues felt like a more substantial gift; one for which he had had to make moral sacrifices. He reconciled his actions with himself in that it was impossible for the creative genius behind the masterpiece to reap any rewards from the sale of it, legal or otherwise.

As he felt his hands beginning to clam up, he walked into the lounge, where the drummer was lying on the floor propped up by his forearms and flicking through one of his myriad car magazines. Clearing his throat, he croaked out, “Hey, Rog.”

Roger flipped over leaning back on his elbows “Oh, hi Brian. Are you alright?” he asked, noticing the way the older guitarist looked somewhat flustered; staring down at his tennis shoes.

Raising his eyes to Roger’s he replied, “Oh, yeah. ‘M fine. I was just, that is I know today is your birthday and everything and er, um I just thought I’d give you this to say, well - Happy Birthday Roger.”

Roger looked from the man shifting nervously on the balls of his feet to the record he had produced from behind his back. His eyes popped and a grin spread rapidly across his face. “Oh! Holy Hell, Bri! How did you get it? Wow, thank you.”

He jumped to his feet and ran at the older man enthusiastically for a hug. As he wrapped his arms around Brian, the guitarist lost his balance and they both toppled over, with Roger banging his head on the coffee table and Brian landing in a tangle of limbs on top of him.

Apologising profusely and trying to scramble off the smaller man as quickly as possible, Brian turned to look at Roger. His eyes were open, unresponsive and blood was seeping from a cut on his head, staining the blond hair and the blue carpet. Brian promptly fainted at the sight, crumbling to the floor next to Roger.

\-----------------------------------

John Deacon heard the commotion and came out from his room, where he’d been writing a song. Well, attempting to write a song would be a more apt statement. In the four hours he’d been working that day, he’d written a total of fourteen words, and he wasn’t that confident about the middle line, either.

He saw both men unconscious on the floor with blood pooling between them, though it looked to be emanating from Roger’s head. Picking up the receiver and dialling 999, he called for an ambulance, before dropping to his knees and trying to rouse both men. Brian woke up, seemingly in control though he was still very pale. Leaving Roger in his care, John went off in search of Freddie.

Turning to the still bleeding man next to him, Brian began shaking uncontrollably, muttering “What have I done? What have I done?” He gathered Roger’s left hand in his, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Roger.” Tears which had been threatening to spill since he had woken up began to slide down his cheeks. Brian looked at the cut on Roger’s head. It was deep, yes - but surely the blow hadn’t been fatal?

Looking into the vacant eyes, Brian was shocked when the right eyelid began twitching. Roger was regaining consciousness! Brian leant down, instinctively pressing his mouth to Roger’s and kissing the smaller man softly as the tears began running freely down his cheeks. Moving backwards he looked into Roger’s eyes, which while not entirely alert, were none the less more receptive than they’d been a moment before.

Roger was grinning up at him in a ridiculous fashion. “Must still be out of it then,” the drummer mumbled to himself. Brian was confused. Roger continued, seemingly speaking to himself, “Huh, thought I was awake for a moment there. Oh well.”

Looking up at the older man holding his hand, he asked, “Brian?”

“Yes, Rog,” Brian choked out.

“You’re too smart for your own good, astronomy is booooring, I’m NOT going vegetarian and can we have atrocious sex again now, please?” Roger said in a manner entirely too lucid for the situation. Either Brian was hallucinating, or Roger had gone completely insane.

Roger attempted to move his legs, believing himself still to be in his unconscious fantasy world. Feeling the pain shoot through his head, he thought better of it. “Wait! But B-Bri? You kissed me.”

The older man was still shaking but the shock had stopped his crying; the tear tracks were drying on his cheeks. “I th-thought that y-you were de-dead, and th-then you weren’t and -,” He gripped Roger’s hand more tightly in his own as the tears started flowing again.

Still groggy and on the verge of unconsciousness, Roger smiled clumsily up at the guitarist before thinking I must be in heaven, then and promptly passing out. Still holding Roger’s hand, Brian gathered the drummer in his arms and held him close, calling out for John as the medics arrived.

\------------------------------------------

Brian didn’t know what to do. An hour ago he’d been agonizing over the best way to deliver the man a birthday present, and now it was entirely his fault that said man was now probably going to be on his way to hospital! Brian shuddered at the thought. Who knew what awful tests and scans Roger would be subjected to? The paramedics had taken Roger back up to his room and were discussing whether they should have him overnight at a hospital, or leave him at the flat under the careful watch of his friends.

He decided to confide in John. Sensible John always knew what to do in situations such as this. “John, can I - can I talk to you about something?”

“Course, Brian. What’s the matter?”

“It’s about Roger –“

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. From what you say happened, I’m sure it was just a bump on the head.”

This did nothing to ease the worry rumbles that were agitating Brian’s stomach at the present time. “Well, um – I sort of, um - like him.”

“We all like Roger, Brian. Honestly, there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be right as rain in a day or so, making us answer to his beck-and-bleeding-call the entire time as he lies on the couch with ice-cream and a magazine. You know how he gets when he has a cold!”

John’s rather uncharacteristically overblown attempt at making light of the situation was doing nothing to ease Brian’s anxieties, however the guitarist ploughed on with his next sentence, “I kissed him, John.”

John’s head shot up from his superhero-comic, not sure he’d heard the guitarist clearly. “Pardon me?”

“I kissed him, John. I-I think I’m falling for him.”

“Was he, um – awake when you kissed him?”

“What! Of course he was awake! I’m not into somnophilia.” Brian replied, somewhat offended as well as feeling terribly awkward about discussing this with the younger man. However, he knew he couldn’t possibly have brought it up with Freddie; the teasing would have been merciless.

“I wasn’t implying - ,” John began. Changing tact, he asked Brian “So are you gay, then?”

“No! ... Um - I don’t know,” Brian replied, “I don’t think so. I just really like Roger. I see him and I can’t speak properly, any thoughts I have fly out of my head and I can’t look him in the eye without blushing. And when he walks around in those denim shorts – “

John cut him off abruptly, not quite in the mood for a lecture on how and why Brian was reduced to incoherent babble in Roger’s presence, “So do you know if Roger feels the same way?”

Brian considered this. “Well, I didn’t think so, but when he woke up, he told me I was boring and too smart and that he wanted to...”

“To what?” John prompted.

“To ‘have atrocious sex’,” Brian said in a hushed whisper, blushing furiously.

John couldn’t help but smile at the blush on the older man’s face. He really was an innocent. “Well then.” John replied.

“Well then, what?” asked Brian, “He said I was boring and vegetarian and too smart, and boring!”

“But he said he wants you,” John said.

“Do you think I’m boring?” asked Brian.

“No, I don’t. And Roger doesn’t either. He was probably delirious or something.”

Brian highly doubted this, but answered the man anyway, “I suppose, thanks Johnny,”

“’S alright, mate,” John replied as the doctors walked back into the room.

“We’re going to leave him with you. He’s been given some pain medication, but not too much is necessary. We think it may have been a heavy concussion, but he seems fine now - just needs some good rest.” the head medic explained.

“Thank you very much sirs, we’ll look after him.” said John.

“Well, good luck,” the doctor replied and after saying goodbyes and offering thanks, Brian closed their front door.

Brian was staring at the floor, but his eyes were darting towards the staircase every few seconds. John nearly laughed, “You go and take the first shift of Roger-minding, OK?”

“Thanks John,” Brian said.

As he climbed the steps, Brian began to feel nervous and agitated. What if Roger was embarrassed about what happened? Or what if he was angry with Brian? Swallowing the lump of fear that had lodged in his throat, Brian softly knocked on the door and entered the bedroom. Roger was lying peacefully on his side, his bloodstained blond hair hanging over his face like a golden creeper vine. Brian felt a twinge of guilt again as he sat in the seat by the bed and watched the man sleep.

Roger began to stir and Brian picked up a book quickly, desperate to be found doing anything but staring at his flatmate.

“Mmm, morning Bri.”

“Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“Oh, bit of a headache, but okay. Did the doctors tell you to watch me?” he asked. “I told them I was fine.” Roger added petulantly, lip pouting like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

“Oh, yeah. They were going to take you to the hospital but John and I said we’d look out for you,” Brian said in an attempt to pacify the drummer.

Roger beamed at the older man, as if he’d been the one who had singlehandedly saved him from a fate worse than death. “Thanks Brian! So what happened back there? I mean, you got me a present, - thank you for that, by the way - and we fell over, and then what?”

Brian froze and looked wide eyed at the drummer, feeling an irrational combination of relief and disappointment as his heart sank. Roger didn’t remember. He didn’t remember the kiss. He didn’t remember the dream. “Oh um, er,” Brian said stalling for time to get his story set in his head. “You regained consciousness for a bit, then went out completely just as the medics arrived.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks. I honestly think I’ll be fine if you wanted to practise or read a book or something.”

Brian held up the book he was ‘reading’, A comprehensive study on the important breakthroughs in orthodontistry in the 1960s. He blushed and put the upside-down book back on the table. “Oh, ok are you sure? Because, you know – I’m happy to stay. Do you need a glass of water or something?”

“I’m fine, Brian. If I need one I can always get it myself. Or holler for you.” Brian looked at the drummer warily, eyes full of concern, but knowing he couldn’t stay watching over Roger against his wishes.

“Ok then, Rog,” he conceded, “Take it easy.” He left the room and went straight to his own across the hall where he collapsed onto his bed, feet and ankles sticking off the end, and hair fanning out over the duvet like a frizzy black halo.

Of course he knew he was being stupid. Roger would never feel that way about him; he was only interested in girls. But so am I! Brian thought. Maybe the bump on his head had made him imagine the whole thing. But Roger had asked him for ‘atrocious sex’, Brian wouldn’t have come up with that in his own mind, surely? Still, Roger had probably thought he was someone else, the long hair confusing him. But he’d called me Brian! And said I was boring and too smart and a vegetarian and boring.

Rolling over, Brian buried his face in his pillow. Why was his life becoming so difficult? Why did the drummer have such an effect on him? Why couldn’t he just ignore Roger and pretend that he wasn’t springing a boner every time the man so much as looked at him with those heavy-lidded eyes?

Brian began crying into his pillow again. He was sure his tear-ducts had been tampered with at birth. No-one cried as much as he did. His mother had told him it was just hormones, but at 24 years old, he felt the viability of the excuse was waning. As he hugged the pillow beneath him to his chest, he didn’t hear his door being slowly creaked open.

Roger made his way over to Brian’s bed. Gently, he placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Are you okay, mate? What’s wrong, Brian?”

Brian shook his head into the pillow in a futile attempt either to remove the evidence of his breakdown or send a signal for Roger to leave. When it was clear neither of those things were going to happen, he rolled over and looked up at the man. He sniffed, “Oh, me? Nothing, nothing. Just a bit of a shock today that’s all. You scared me is all. John says I fainted.” he added. Inwardly, he cringed, realising that instead of providing an excuse for his weeping like a cry-baby; he had just made himself look twice as pathetic to the drummer who was now rubbing circles on his shoulder, trying to provide comfort. Surely this should be the other way around? Roger was the one who had had the brush with death after all.

The blond man sat down on the side of Brian’s bed, “Shh Brian, shh it’s okay. I’m fine, and you’ll be fine too. Do you want an aspirin?” Brian sniffed again, shaking his head. Roger continued running his hand up and down Brian’s upper arm, while the man below him tried to control his whimpers.

“Honestly Roger, I’m fine. I mean, we can’t exactly conquer the world without a pin-up boy as a drummer, can we?” Roger swatted him playfully on the arm. “Besides, shouldn’t you be sleeping? The doctor said you needed rest.”

“I’ll be fine, Brian. I think you’re the one who needs rest.”

Brian rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. It had been a very long day. Roger bent down over him, “And I don’t think you’re boring.” he whispered and kissed the guitarist on the forehead. Brian’s eyes flew open.

“What?” Brian whispered back, heart jumping erratically and settling somewhere in the back of his throat.

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Roger repeated, kissing his forehead again, this time leaving his lips in place.

Brian moved his left hand up to the back of Roger’s neck, pulling his face down so their eyes were level. He searched the younger man’s face, but saw only love and a slight nervousness manifesting itself in the quivering of his lower lip. Brian raised his head a fraction, closing his eyes as their lips gently met; his salty tear-stained ones with Roger’s, soft and sweet. 

Roger moaned; opening his mouth slightly as his tongue licked at Brian’s upper lip, running along the line where they met, seeking entry. Brian’s lips parted, allowing Rogers’ the right to exploration. Their tongues entwined as they sought further contact, and Brian moved his arm lower to the small of Roger’s back. He reached his hand up and under the drummer’s shirt, stroking up the man’s spine. As he felt a shiver surge through the back of the man above him; with unexpected strength, he manoeuvred Roger onto his side so they were facing each other. Breaking contact for a moment, he shifted his head to press their foreheads together.

Roger looked enquiringly up at Brian; he’d been studying the man intensely for ages; the past three years, five months and 23 days, to be precise; and while the guitarist appeared to wear his heart on his sleeve, he still could not figure him out. To all intents and purposes, it seemed like Brian felt something other than platonic band-mate fondness for him, but he could never be sure if Brian was just humouring him - purely to the end of keeping the band together. Roger had to know if this really was what Brian wanted. “Brian?” Roger asked, as said man was currently making his way licking and biting softly along his jaw line.

”Mmm, yeah Rog,” Brian replied, delighting in the taste of Roger and the soft keening noise he made when his own lips and teeth grazed over the spot just there...

Roger promptly forgot his previous question, instead pulling back to wipe away Brian’s tears with his fingers, letting his mouth follow the same path. Remembering his question, again he abruptly put an end to his oral explorations.

“Do you really want this?” Roger asked, releasing all his bottled insecurities, and throwing them into the open air with the question.

Brian stopped in his tracks, locking eyes with the drummer. Barely able to speak, he could only croak out an answer of “So much. I love you.”

Before he had time to reconsider how his words could be interpreted or make up for the serious gaffe that his final statement might have been, his lips were once again captured in a searing kiss as the drummer grinned cheekily and resumed attacking the guitarist’s mouth with considerably greater vigour.


End file.
